


toying with lighters

by raviiel



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: "Bad" Boy Juyeon, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Assault, College Student Chanhee, M/M, chanhee's brattiness as a plot device, it is a whole scene tho so beware, not between junew tho and not between sunnew either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raviiel/pseuds/raviiel
Summary: Chanhee first sees Juyeon at a night market struggling and failing to light a cigarette. Once that lighter is in his hands, he never lets it go.
Relationships: Choi Chanhee | New & Kim Sunwoo, Choi Chanhee | New/Lee Juyeon
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91





	toying with lighters

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** There are scenes of violence, and the second one is the climax and full-on assault (not of the sexual variety though). Take care!

The first time Chanhee sees Lee Juyeon, he's leaned against an old-looking black motorcycle outside a shop with blaring neon lights advertising its services: delivery. Juyeon standing out there though, fiddling with a lighter and cigarette, nullifies the signs like the moon blotting itself out at the beginning of a new lunar cycle. People very clearly steer away from the storefront, and Chanhee wonders if someone will come out to yell at him over it. No one does.

Chanhee is out on the night market with friends to unwind after the disaster that had been midterms. Raucous and hard to ignore as they are, he's utterly distracted with gazing at the young man whose endless legs are clad in baggy black rider pants that finally end tucked into heavy boots, a tan aviator jacket draped around his shoulders. More than that, he's struggling with a lighter because of leather gloves clung to his long fingers. It's sort of hysterical that he hasn't thought to take them off yet.

He steps out of his crowd of friends, only distantly hearing how Hyunjae is obnoxiously trying to charm the auntie running the stand for free drinks. One of them calls after him, but he waves them off and steps across the street, melting through the crowds until he slinks through the other side.

The young man doesn't notice, not even when he's right in front of him, until he reaches out to help with the lighter. A hand flashes forward to end with leather straining around his wrist. Chanhee blinks innocently when unnervingly aware feline eyes stare at him. Chanhee smiles, saccharine.

"Why not just take off your gloves?" he asks, feather-light.

Gently, he pries his wrist free of the absurdly large hand around it and delicately plucks away the lighter. The young man scrutinizes his every move, but he simply flicks the lighter on and tilts it forward.

He stares between it and Chanhee for a long moment before, without looking away, steadily putting the cigarette on his lips and leaning the bud in to light it. The flame reflects burnished gold in his dark eyes, intense and entrancing. Chanhee's lips stay curved, and when the cigarette tip is orange, he flicks it closed.

"See, that wasn't so hard."

Still trained on Chanhee as if trying to analyze every angle of him, the young man deeply inhales. Part of Chanhee thinks he'll blow the smoke out on his face with the standoffish way those eyes bore into him, but he doesn't, instead turning to release wispy curls from reddened lips tilted low. Chanhee traces the curve of his nose, deciding he likes the strong shape of it as he turns over the rectangular lighter still in his hands.

Movement catches the corner of his eyes and he looks towards the shop's glass door to see a man approaching—not openly sketchy, but when they make eye contact, the man's eyes harden as if to tell Chanhee to mind his damned business. He stalks inside.

Unbothered, Chanhee looks back at the young man, smiling again.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"You should go," he replies in a moderately deep voice. "Standing outside of shops is bad for business."

Chanhee tilts his head, amused by the irony. "Speak for yourself."

The door opens again, and they both look over. A different man pokes his head out; a smoother jaw, a wider nose, rounder eyes. He immediately finds the young man, and Chanhee bothering him.

"Juyeon," he says, eyes flickering between them. "You've got a job."

The young man—Juyeon—straightens out. The other man looks at the cigarette, and then Chanhee, pointed.

"No smoking. And no..." he gesticulates vaguely at them, "whatever this is. Come on." The door swings closed.

Juyeon steps around Chanhee. "Bad for business," he repeats meaningfully. "You should go."

Chanhee simpers one more time at him, but he doesn't look back as he strides into the shop.

 _Juyeon,_ he thinks, glancing at the lighter left curled in his fingers. _Juyeon._

  
  


The next time Chanhee sees Juyeon, it's at a party. It's one of those "friend of a friend, so come" parties full of faces he doesn't care enough to recognize, one of those parties where a set-down cup is better left abandoned and the bathroom is a liminal space to used for sobering awareness and depositing regrets. Chanhee likes these kinds of parties.

Moonlight filters through the ventilation fans of the warehouse ceiling as bass and trap thump heavy in the walls and windows, lasers reflecting off every surface to dizzy anyone steeped in too much alcohol. He can lose himself in this and let loose, and he does.

Unsurprisingly, it ends with being pressed between the outside of the warehouse wall and a bigger body, one arm braced over his head while another secures around his waist just short of how he likes it. His mouth is already kiss-swollen because kissing feels good, but what feels better is the promise of getting absolutely wrecked by the bulge his knee presses into.

That is, until a commotion startles both of them, the big stranger more than he, and they whip around to see what looks like a brawl on the other side of a stack of crates. It's clamorous and sounds violent, and part of Chanhee wants to break out of the hold on his waist and see, no longer interested in the guy who'd been eating his face.

"Let's get out of here," he says, trying to coax Chanhee away before the fight can discover them.

Slippery as he's perfected being, Chanhee worms out of the hold and slides around him, creeping around the wall of boxes to check what's up. If the fight has stemmed from the party, it won't be long before a crowd shuts him out, and he loves front-row seats for any spectacle.

"You serious?" asks the guy, but Chanhee ignores him. He pokes his head around the corner of the crates.

No one from the party is there, but a single guy surrounded by others is; Chanhee counts three, two already down for the count, making it one-on-five, making it _intriguing._ The guy at the center moves around the others like they're puppets mastered by clumsy hands and he's water that only moves in sharp, deadly currents. What kind of movie is this? Chanhee expects a camera set to pop out any second, but none does.

Stars glitter in his eyes as he watches this guy take on the others without breaking a sweat, making it look as effortless as breathing. It's only when he gets a good look at the face that surprise changes his expression—it's Juyeon. The stars burst into supernovae and a smile splits his face.

A hand grips his wrist, and he senses déjà vu before turning around to find the guy he'd been making out with displeased. He'd completely forgotten about that already, and he grins sheepishly.

"It was fun, but no thanks!" He slaps the wrist away, which clearly wasn't the right move because humiliated rage quickly supplants the drunken arousal.

The man lunges for Chanhee, who manages to step out of the way and end up on the other side of the crates that had been hiding him from Juyeon apparently being a master badass.

More irate than before, the man dogs Chanhee's steps, and he has to focus on avoiding him _and_ the scrap Juyeon is in. It proves to be an issue when Juyeon suddenly spins to grip him by the neck and shove him against the wall. Chanhee yelps, kicking outward.

At the sight of him, Juyeon's eyes widen.

"Hey!" the man growls. "Get your hands off him, he's _mine."_

Alarmed, Chanhee's eyes flicker between them. Then, behind Juyeon, light catches on a metal pipe. The hand snug around his neck—a novel feeling—restricts him from both word and breath, so all he can do is frantically throw a finger out in warning. In one swift movement, Juyeon spins him into his arms and twirls out of the way, leaving the man chasing Chanhee down to stumble into the pipe's trajectory. Chanhee winces at the hard _crack._

He presses his lips together, fingers worrying at his neck. "Oops," he rasps.

Juyeon snaps to look down at him, unamused.

Quickly shaking his head, he pushes Chanhee around another corner and away from where he takes care of the last guy.

He hadn't been deprived of oxygen too long, but Chanhee is lightheaded watching, heart excitedly racing a mile a minute, floaty and starstruck in the best way at the show. Adrenaline undoubtedly clouds his judgment, but the scene thrills up and down his spine.

The last man collapses unceremoniously to the ground, leaving Juyeon at the center of carnage, chest heaving under a black short-sleeved shirt that fits _just_ right. Dark strands stray around his sweat-glistened face, and now that Chanhee looks, a couple of bruises and cuts mar it too; namely a busted lower lip at the corner and a gash across his sharp cheekbone that could have cut itself.

Danger no longer imminent, Chanhee steps out of the building's shadow and lightly around the fallen bodies, hands chastely folded behind his back. He whistles lowly.

"You some kind of mad dog?" he jokes. Both fear and exhilaration line the slight trembles of his body, but he hardly pays attention to that. "Who even _does_ this?"

That black, black shirt hugs the defined shape of Juyeon's pectorals as he takes a deep breath to collect himself. It's mesmerizing. Chanhee likes it.

"You should go," Juyeon tells him, reaching into a back pocket for a carton of cigarettes.

"This again?" he replies, unimpressed. "Look at you," he leans around to get a good look at Juyeon's fucked up face. "What a mess. You have such a nice face, how are you going to go and ruin it like this?"

That's what he says, but Chanhee unabashedly savors how the wounds accentuate his sharp features.

Apparently Juyeon decides not to entertain him, pulling up one leather glove to wipe at his bloodied mouth with his hand's heel before placing a cigarette on his lips. Heady as he feels, it's an inordinately arousing sight—until Juyeon spits out a nasty glob next to one of the fallen guys' heads. Chanhee snorts.

"Disgusting."

When Juyeon pats around his pants in search of what might be a lighter, Chanhee's own pocket feels heavier.

"Oh," he lets out, mischief curling along his mouth. "Need a lighter?" He reaches in without waiting for an answer and slips out the gunmetal gray Zippo he'd kept from the other night.

Recognition flashes in Juyeon's eyes, followed by the briefest glint of annoyance that Chanhee revels in. Chanhee flips it open and switches it alive, holding it out until Juyeon shakes his head to himself and comes over. His lashes fan prettily along his cheeks as he looks down to light the bud, and Chanhee wants to run his fingers along them.

Juyeon pulls back but doesn't ask for the lighter again, and Chanhee takes that as a sign to keep it, cheekily giddy about it.

After taking his first drag, Juyeon balances the stick on his lips and goes around to each body, patting them down to pull whatever he can off of them. He seems to be searching for something specific, so Chanhee stows the lighter away and starts picking around too, curious.

In a back pocket, he plucks out another lighter—this one a deep wine-red but just the same as the one he'd taken from Juyeon. He flicks it open, humming loudly, and compares it to the gray one. Striking both with his thumbs, he frowns when the red one doesn't flare.

Heavy footfalls suddenly stop in front of him and his hands curl around both lighters, bringing them together with a _click_. He looks up to see a gloved hand expectantly held out and Juyeon peering down at him with unreadable eyes.

"Oh," Chanhee says airily after he's shuffled the lighters between his palms. He holds out the gray one between two fingers. "Is this what you're looking for?"

From this crouch, Juyeon is fucking _big._ Goosebumps prickle Chanhee's skin under his holey sweatshirt as all sorts of tempting ideas run relays through his brain. No one has to know that most of them involve sweat-slick skin and bent, bruising knees.

Decadent, he rolls up to his feet and posts all the way into Juyeon's personal space, the fiery bud of the cigarette close enough that one wrong move would burn Chanhee's lips. Their height difference isn't enough for his head to tilt back, but he does peer up through his lashes, lip corners pulling up a little. Juyeon's hand picks away the cigarette and drops.

"What're you going to give me in return?" he asks coyly.

Juyeon looks entirely deadpan at Chanhee's antics.

"I'm tight on time," is all he says.

Chanhee scrunches his nose. "Absolutely no fun at all." He then fakes exaggerated thoughtfulness, bottom lip protruding as his eyes arc from the sky to the side. "How about... a kiss? And then I'll give you this back."

The most minute of twitches wrinkles Juyeon's brow; at least he isn't robotic and emotionless. His eyes search Chanhee's face, maybe for a way out, but then he sighs, and Chanhee knows he's won.

Juyeon is so stiff that Chanhee want to laugh, but he only braces one hand on Juyeon's shoulder and leans up to press his lips to the bloodied corner of Juyeon's mouth, long enough for some red to print onto his own. With a soft smack, he pulls back and pokes his tongue out to trace along the iron staining his bottom lip, eyes curving, pleased. Juyeon's own eyes follow the movement with some measure of perplexity before he shakes his head like a shooing a thought away.

"Lighter?" he asks. It's strange that he asks for the red one and not the gray—which is exactly why he won't get it.

Chanhee grabs his wrist, laying each finger down in deliberate succession, and tucks the gunmetal lighter into his large palm, curling his fingers closed with his own smaller hands.

"Take care," he hums, and then looks around at the unconscious bodies. "Oh, and don't worry. I saw nothing."

He leaves Juyeon in the middle of the decimation, fingers wrapping increasingly tighter around the wrong lighter.

  
  


Chanhee is devious, sometimes too much for his own good; any of his friends can attest to that. It's landed him in tight spots before, but he doesn't see the need to change when it's also gotten him what he's wanted time and again.

For example, today:

Sunwoo returns to the service counter and glances at Chanhee playing with the wine-red lighter behind one of the cash registers. As he endlessly turns it over in his fingers, he notices number etchings on its bottom, sequenced like some sort of combination, or a code.

"Don't let manager-noona catch you playing with that," he says, reaching towards it. Chanhee childishly jerks it out of reach and squirrels it away. "Since when do you smoke?"

Secretively, Chanhee smiles. "I don't."

Sunwoo wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, then redirects the topic. "You know that guy, hyung?" He nods in the direction of a corner of the café where a solitary figure sits, so out of place in dark clothes among the coffee browns and cream whites. Other customers give a wide berth, leaving at least a table's space between them and him. "He's been watching you since he got here."

Chanhee hums, snapping the lighter shut decisively. "Is that so?"

It is so. That heavy gaze trailing around since he came in and hasn't gone unnoticed, but he's relished every second of it like a cat preening under the love of the sun. Still, an edge ticks Sunwoo's tone that promises hands in his defense if it comes down to it.

He says as much. "I can take care of it, if you want."

Chanhee coos and pockets the lighter, pinching his cheek for his comically serious expression. "My good dongsaeng, always looking out for me," he singsongs. "Don't worry, he's harmless."

Sunwoo doesn't have to voice his skepticism for how it dresses his face. Instead, he cracks his knuckles threateningly and answers the call of their supervisor.

The rest of the shift passes like that. Chanhee works and pretends not to bask in the eyes following him around, lighter like a ten-ton anvil in his pocket, and Sunwoo hovers close by while projecting intangible threats to anyone who even thinks to lay a hand on him.

Near closing time, Sunwoo obstinately stalks over to the corner table. From the counter, Chanhee watches with ill-concealed amusement, chin parked in his palm as his fingers gently drum against his cheek, other fingers smoothing along the smooth texture of the lighter. It'd certainly be funny to see the two of them go at each other and who would come out on top; Chanhee adores Sunwoo, but that poor boy would be eaten up no matter how feisty he is.

In more of a sour mood than when he left, Sunwoo comes back to the counter.

"He's asking for you." His fingers ruffle irritably at his fluffy burgundy bangs. "Hyung... What'd you get yourself into this time?"

Chanhee shrugs noncommittally. "Nothing. Am I that suspicious?"

Sunwoo is entirely unimpressed, wrinkling his nose again.

"Alright, okay. I'll go see what he wants and get him out," he appeases, rubbing Sunwoo's cheek as he stashes away the lighter once more.

"I'm over here if you need me."

Nodding to humor him, Chanhee follows the path back to the corner table, hands folding neatly at his waist. At the table, Juyeon pretends to be occupied by anything else except watching him come over, and the plain exertion of it is cute.

"My coworker told me you would like to see me, customer?" he asks innocently. "It's almost closing time, and you're the last one here. How can I help you?"

Juyeon finally looks at him. If possible, he looks even _more_ beat up than the last time they met; a welt swells under his left eye, accompanied by scrapes across the cheek, and his bottom lip is more busted than before. Other bruises litter his face, from his forehead to his chin, and then disappear into a thin black turtleneck covered by a deep green bomber jacket.

"You look like you've seen better days, customer," Chanhee says politely.

"Cut it out," Juyeon says without intonation. "You know why I'm here." His varnished eyes harden, though it hardly deters or intimidates Chanhee, only serving to send a thrill up his spine.

"Oh?" He tilts his head, mouth forming round around the word. "Are you finally back for your lighter?"

Juyeon doesn't blink, twitch, react at all, and Chanhee's eyes then curve, and he decides to stop playing dumb. "You're right, customer. Will you wait for me after my shift? It's not here."

Juyeon scrutinizes him for a long moment, and Chanhee wonders if he's been caught in his lie. "Are you wasting my time?"

"Me? I'd _never."_

It's more like he's trying to monopolize it, but to say that out loud defeats the purpose of it.

A single gloved finger beats against the tabletop—the only sign of emotion Juyeon has shown since he's been at the café. A smile pushes onto Chanhee's lips, only to be repressed. Juyeon finally sighs; concession enough.

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to go," Chanhee says, and turns away to start closing.

"Hyung..." Sunwoo says warily.

Chanhee easily waves him off. "I'll be fine, Seonu."

The surety of his tone doesn't placate Sunwoo, but Juyeon is harmless. Practically.

Closing usually takes a good thirty minutes, and while the day has worn Chanhee down, he takes his sweet time. Sunwoo stubbornly hangs around when all his chores are finished, giving Juyeon the evil eye in the corner as they pass around him like he isn't there.

"At least text me when you get home, and before you go to bed," Sunwoo asks, almost pouting.

Chanhee can't help how he wants to squish his face until his eyes pop out.

Almost an hour after he first talks to Juyeon, he finally comes out with a bag and coat. Juyeon already stands as he approaches, keys in hand, and when Chanhee motions for him to lead the way, he stride out of the café.

The same motorcycle from that first night is parked out of the way, and Chanhee is tickled to see two helmets are waiting for them, like his bratty behavior was inevitable—expected, even.

Juyeon pulls one off and turns to him.

"Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?"

(Well, yes. But Juyeon doesn't need to know that it was his first girlfriend in middle school who stole her older brother's motorcycle because she was a dominant rebel that ended up being the gateway into Chanhee realizing he was gay _and_ a bottom. That train of thought quickly thumbs through the other men he's dated who drove a motorcycle. He always sort of thought it was egocentric and compensating, but Juyeon... The old-fashioned bike suits him.)

When he shakes his head in a little white lie, Juyeon slips the helmet onto his head for him and flicks up the visor, making sure it's secure. He puts on his own helmet and easily straddles the bike with his long legs, then turns to Chanhee with a held out phone.

"Put in your address."

Chanhee takes it—it's new, so new that the original screen protector is still on and the casing is in perfect shape, which betrays Juyeon's rough looks. He has to wonder if it's even _his_ phone, or maybe some kind of temporary one. It begs the question; what does Juyeon do that requires phones to be swapped in and out for new ones often?

He hands it back, and then straddles the bike. Juyeon reaches back for his arms and pulls them around his center.

"Hold on tight and don't move too much," is all he says before the bike revs to life.

Chanhee gladly listens, enjoying fitting his body to Juyeon's broad back.

At ease, he closes his eyes and feels wind whip around them as Juyeon follows the GPS directions back to his apartment. It should feel more dangerous than it does, guiding a practical stranger to his home, but if Juyeon found out where he worked, then what would be the point in keeping his apartment location a secret? It'd probably be discovered eventually anyway.

They pull into the parking lot not long later and Juyeon lets him off to show him where to park. Chanhee realizes, when he doesn't follow, that he'll simply wait for him to go inside, get what he's here for, and then leave. That just won't do at all, so he pulls off the helmet, goes back to the bike, and flips Juyeon's visor open. Those feline eyes look right back at him.

"If you want it, you have to come inside."

This doesn't seem to surprise Juyeon at all, but he minutely shakes his head in disbelief anyway. The bike turns off and he pries away the helmet, tucking it under one long arm.

"People get hurt like this, you know," he says almost under his breath as he follows.

"If you were going to hurt me, you would have already," Chanhee replies lightly, leading him through the outdoor building hallways. "Besides, if you ever want a favor in the future, now you know where I live." Implication colors his smile as the door clicks unlocked. Juyeon doesn't reply.

Inside is dark and Chanhee shuffles in, already wanting to be warm. He methodically goes about taking off his winter wear, amused at the idea of Juyeon snapping at him to hurry up already. It doesn't happen.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"I'd like what I came here for."

"Yeah, but then you'd leave."

Juyeon doesn't reply to that either as Chanhee flicks on the lights.

He can only stall so many ways, so he makes a show of sighing melodramatically, tossing his belongings onto the couch on the way to his bedroom.

From the top drawer of the nightstand, he pulls out a sticky note pad and pen and then picks the red lighter out of his pocket. He has no idea what the numbers are for, but it seems interesting, so he jots them down and stows them back away. Truthfully, what it is isn't as important as the fact that the lighter looked likely enough to help cross his path with Juyeon's again, so he'll probably just forget about it later.

Theoretically, he _could've_ gone back to that night market and that shop Juyeon had been parked in front of, but his sense of self-preservation isn't _that_ thin. Whatever goes on in that shop, it's better to stay away from it.

He returns to the entry way, saying, "I wonder why this is so important that you'd track me down at my workplace to get it back." He dangles it. The antics don't amuse Juyeon. "Should I ask for something in exchange again?"

Juyeon's dark eyes roam his face as he smiles without an ounce of shame.

"You don't know what you're trying to get into," he eventually says, eyes drifting to the side as his voice softens.

 _Well, hopefully, your pants, but—_ Chanhee dusts the thought away because apprehension does a bizarre sweep of Juyeon's expression, and it stirs one of his least favorite feelings in his gut: guilt. He's two steps away from looking like an overgrown kicked puppy, and Chanhee could do without having that image imprinted into his mind for the rest of the week.

He sighs, conscience taking over, and holds the red lighter out with no strings attached. "Here. It's late, you should get going."

Juyeon blinks, the only sign of surprise, and gingerly picks it from Chanhee's smaller hand like his skin might burn right through those ever-present gloves.

Mood killed, Chanhee steps out of Juyeon's personal space. How someone so clearly sketchy can look so awkward and innocent without being outwards about it, he'll never know. It's a shame he won't get another kiss, but he'll live.

"Well, be careful on your way... to wherever it is you go," he finally says, tucking disappointment away. He reaches out to cup Juyeon's cheek, stroking his thumb across that strong cheekbone. "And really, stop messing up that face of yours, it's too pretty for that."

He's about to pull away further when leather fingers wrap mildly around his wrist, holding it in place, and he quashes the impulsion to startle. Juyeon tilts his face into the touch, almost _nosing_ into his palm, and heat rushes up Chanhee's neck.

"You're," he needs a second to find his voice, "sort of giving me mixed signals here."

His skin tingles from how Juyeon's lips brush against the heel of his palm, and he _swears_ he hears a soft smack of a kiss.

"No, no, no," he reprimands in a half-panic, "don't do that if you're not planning on staying." He reaches his other hand out to gently wrest free. "I will literally not let you leave."

The part of him that'd been counting on it deflates when Juyeon indeed pulls away, but not before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the gunmetal lighter that Chanhee had played decoy with before, lips slightly twitching. Just like then, Juyeon tucks it into his palm and curls his fingers around it, and goosebumps run over Chanhee's skin when leather fingers grace over his wrist and pulse.

"Keep it."

So maybe this opportunity hadn't been a _total_ waste; the sliver of potential Chanhee senses is a balm for the sting, so he decides to let go. For now.

At the door, Juyeon glances over his shoulder. "Be careful." Then, he's gone.

That isn't ominous at all.

Chanhee's fingertips gloss over the heel of his palm where the warmth of those bowed lips feels like a brand. He looks at the gray lighter. Why give it back?

Sunwoo chews him out at work the next day for not texting to let him know he was still alive, but all he can think about while snapping back mindless insults is that grip swallowing his wrist.

  
  


No matter how much he wishes, Chanhee doesn't expect to see Juyeon after that night. Three meetings total and a lighter like a promise does not make _any_ valid reason for him to be as infatuated as he is, but the amalgamation of busted lips and bruised skin that Juyeon is dogs his thoughts like phantoms. He consistently has to talk himself out of "unintentionally" dropping by that shop in the night market, too aware of how out of place he'd be.

He's grown a habit of playing with the gunmetal lighter, flicking it on and off, remembering the way it gilded Juyeon's eyes with amber and gold.

When two weeks pass without a single hint of running into him, Chanhee decides maybe, maybe it's time to move on—lighter or not. What a waste, he thinks; he'd hardly gotten to do more than kiss him, even after he'd shown actual interest in the end, but between work and school, looking for trouble is more of a hassle than it's worth.

But then. Trouble finds him.

Strange people have started to skulk around the café, people Chanhee hasn't seen in the neighborhood before. He notices after a few days of writing it off as coincidence (maybe they lived somewhere nearby and came around when when he wasn't on shift), but he refuses to be that oblivious, considering shrewdness one of his best and most life-saving qualities. Those people all nonchalantly (hurriedly) look away whenever he casually checks on them in whatever corner they tried to be cloistered in.

It's not only around the café either—he's being followed in commute, around campus, to and from home. Eyes seem to ferret his every move, and his foundation compact has never seen more use in its life. He pulls it out every so often in a guise of checking his lip tint or BB cream, and without fail, someone will be there, face always obscured. The habit of messing with the lighter has become a nervous tic, something to ground himself with when it feels like he isn't alone.

Part of him considers how it _could_ be Juyeon playing some long, weird game—but the body builds are always different and the clothes are always some variation on the same purposefully nondescript outfit.

That, and Juyeon blatantly shows up to his job one day while he's on break, nose-deep in three different textbooks and mindlessly running his fingers over the matte surface of the lighter.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Chanhee blinks several times at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice. It's different; less... detached. A hint of a smile curves his eyes at the sight of the lighter—not annoyed like last time—and Chanhee's heart flip-flops in his chest the moment he lays eyes on him.

"Not at all," he hears himself say and smile, and the opposite chair pulls out for Juyeon to lower himself into.

On cue, Sunwoo shows up at the table side.

"Well, well, well," he drawls with a pen and pad, "look what the cat dragged in. He bothering you, hyung?"

Chanhee's hands habitually fold in front of his mouth as he rolls his eyes. "No, Seonu." He looks smartly at Juyeon, who seems unperturbed by Sunwoo's intimidation tactics. "In fact, I think he's decided to be my date today."

At that, Sunwoo's lips press into a thin line. "Fine," he huffs. "What can I get you?"

Juyeon doesn't bother with a menu, instead looking at Chanhee with those same curving eyes and reaching forward to drum his covered fingers by the lighter. It's pretty, Chanhee thinks; he bets a full smile would shame the sun.

"What do you recommend?"

  
  


That's the beginning of something... unexpected. Unexpected because Juyeon, from their past interactions, was cagey at worst and had steel walls up at best. Chanhee had thought his visit would be a one-off thing, something probably meant to satisfy any curiosities lingering in Juyeon's mind—or maybe to finally deprive Chanhee of any and all lighters together. Instead, Juyeon starts to visit almost every day near the end of Chanhee's shift.

Sunwoo _hates_ it, but Chanhee hasn't mentioned the weirdos who have been lurking around either—and the fact that Juyeon's presence seems to drive them off. Chanhee doesn't want to put two and two together, too blissful in how Juyeon frequently offers to drive him home, but it's impossible they're unrelated.

Still, Juyeon comes and sits in the usual corner at the end of the day, eats a light appetizer, drinks something, and waits for Chanhee to get off. Chanhee will sit with him during his breaks and try to chip away at homework, only to be distracted by how Juyeon watches him and asks questions about whatever he's working on.

(Like this, it occurs to Chanhee that maybe Juyeon didn't further his schooling after high school. He doesn't ask. Juyeon probably wouldn't answer if he did.)

It's enough that he drops Chanhee off at home every evening and walks him to his front door, and Chanhee will shamelessly tangle their fingers together and ask for a kiss before he goes inside. Juyeon had hesitated at first, unsurprisingly shy about affection and all the more adorable for it.

"I don't bite," Chanhee jokes, "at least not if you don't _want_ me too."

Pink flushes prettily down Juyeon's ears, his cheeks, his long neck. His long neck that Chanhee thinks he could spend all night marking, if only Juyeon would let him. He refuses to go inside the apartment, seeming to be in a hurry, checking over his shoulder like someone might be there.

It unsettles Chanhee, but he doesn't ask (doesn't want to). The new bruises blooming around Juyeon's face and peeking out from his collar probably have nothing to do with it either. Probably.

  
  


"Your delivery job," Chanhee casually mentions one evening when they're dismounting the motorcycle. He trails a finger along the surface of the bike's gas tank, lighter in his other hand. "It's pretty dangerous."

Juyeon's bottom lip slightly juts as his eyebrows raise. Familiarity has softened and warmed his expressions, breeding all kinds of butterflies that flutter ravenously in Chanhee's stomach. He shrugs halfheartedly. "Not really."

Chanhee reaches that same finger to hook it into the collar of Juyeon's white t-shirt under his jacket, but as soon as he tries to pull, leather grips his wrist. It beckons memories of that first meeting in the night market, though this grip is just a little looser, gentler. He peers into Juyeon's eyes, who tries for an apologetic half-smile.

"Don't worry about it. I can handle it."

Then, his big hand trails up to envelop Chanhee's and pull it off to lace their fingers, so lovely in how they slide together that a mild blush blooms in the rounds of Chanhee's cheeks. He quickly flips his head away, nose tilted up, hoping the moonlight doesn't expose him.

"Fine, see if I ever worry about you again!"

A soft laugh leaves Juyeon as he leads them to Chanhee's door. There, he brings Chanhee's smaller hand up to his lips and presses tenderly along his knuckles. Steam practically blows from Chanhee's ears at the affection.

"You..." He huffs, turning sharply to be face-to-face with Juyeon. "You're so...!"

How they escalated to this kind of intimacy, Chanhee doesn't know. They were strangers and Juyeon seemed to want to keep it that way, and now Chanhee wants to drag him into his apartment and kiss him silly, kiss until they're breathless? Just kiss so much? Sex not being the end goal for once, this not being a one-time thing... Chanhee being so twined into Juyeon, wanting him, wanting to be with him...

He groans, forehead dropping onto Juyeon's shoulder.

"You'd better be careful," he finally scolds. "How will you keep embarrassing me if something happens to you?" Their joined hands bend out and down, slowly swinging between them like a slow dance.

"I'm just protecting you," Juyeon gently replies, amusement in the tone. "I'll be fine."

 _Protecting,_ Chanhee's mind distantly asks. _From what?_

He doesn't get another moment to unravel that strain of thought since Juyeon coaxes his head up, other hand curling a finger under his chin, and their breaths suddenly intermingle. Chanhee's belly swoops, and Juyeon's eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips.

"Finally going to kiss me?" he asks without thinking, rooted to the spot.

"Yeah," Juyeon breathes warmly, and closes the distance.

Chanhee melts. He pulls his hand free to wrap his arms around Juyeon's shoulders, rolling onto the balls of his feet just a little because of how broad they are. It's simple and chaste, and even though Juyeon's lips are slightly chapped, he'd be happy to stay that way for the rest of his life—until Juyeon's mouth shifts against his, and Chanhee's brain kicks into high-gear. His tongue eagerly slips across the crack of space between their tilting heads. Juyeon is so _warm,_ everything about him, and Chanhee wants to drink it all in.

An almost obscene sucking noise echoes in the apartment hallway, flaring arousal low in Chanhee's stomach, but before he can pursue it and meld their bodies together, a loud sound startles them apart.

A knife appears in Juyeon's free hand, the other arm wrapped protectively around Chanhee's waist, as his eyes flare in the direction of the sudden interruption. Chanhee can hear his own soft pants, hardly discouraged, stars dancing in his eyes as he traces every detail of Juyeon's statuesque profile. He can't even be bothered by the knife, where it came from, or how quickly it manifested.

That's pretty much his entire rule book when it comes to dealing with Juyeon and Juyeon-related... shenanigans.

When no other sound follows up, Juyeon relaxes marginally and pockets the knife, looking back at Chanhee, apologetic.

"I need to go."

Petulance twitches in Chanhee's brow. "What if I don't want you to?"

Juyeon smiles at him—a genuine beam full of indulgence that could end up being Cause of Death, 11:26PM. He tilts his head in to peck Chanhee again on the lips but doesn't linger, pulling away to leave Chanhee pouty and cold.

"See you tomorrow?" he hears himself ask, and hates how _needy_ that sounds. He wants to, though. He wants to see Juyeon tomorrow, the next day, and every day after that.

"Yeah," Juyeon breathes, smile widening. He could get used to that. "See you tomorrow."

Chanhee watches him go, watches the night fold its arms snugly around his clothes. Fuzzy-brained and lips buzzing, he doesn't notice that Juyeon leaves in the direction of that noise from earlier instead of the motorcycle.

  
  


Chanhee doesn't see Juyeon the next day. Or the day after that.

At first, ignoring the sting of disappointment, he puts it out of mind. Maybe odd work hours are interfering with him showing up—it hadn't before, not for those solid three weeks they'd spent riding home together, but things change. He'd been all too quick to convince himself of that.

To be hung up over it would be silly, so Chanhee ignores his sinking heart and lets agitation be its barricade. Three days pass.

The fact that he'd never asked for Juyeon's number bites him in the ass every moment he wonders where Juyeon is. As if the guy hadn't already been difficult enough to keep track of, having a number to call or even message would do wonders for Chanhee's nerves. Sure, he still has the lighter, but the damn thing won't tell him where Juyeon is or what he's up to.

He doesn't let himself think that he's been stood up. They finally properly kiss, and Juyeon turns tail? No, he doesn't seem like the type, and the sweet smile from that night is reassurance enough. Then, that leads to worse thoughts.

_"Your delivery job. It's pretty dangerous."_

What _kind_ of delivery business does he even work for? What kind would have him beating up others and being beaten up in return? That left him with bruises and cuts and wear down Chanhee's soul as much as they tempt him?

God, he'd _just_ told him to be careful too. Now, this.

_Now this, what? You don't even know if anything's happened to him._

Every day that passes without a trace of Juyeon peels back another layer around Chanhee, quickly leaving him to feel jarringly exposed. Juyeon had become a safety blanket with the way he'd escorted him home every night, and without him... Chanhee's skin crawls at how eyes once again feel like they haunt his every move. He hadn't missed checking over his shoulder every five seconds, being jumpy, being _prey_.

He'll wear out the casing of the gunmetal lighter at this rate. It all but lives in his fingers now.

It grates on his sanity, on his work, on school, on sleep—nightmares of disembodied eyes that stalk his every move, cold hands that trap his limbs and stuff his mouth until he blacks out, screams that refuse to escape his throat, legs that won't move fast enough. He begins to refuse sleep altogether, throwing himself into schoolwork and filling the empty hours with extra shifts at the café.

As his body begins to beg for sleep, he tries to be rational over everything. Maybe it's paranoia, and maybe skipping out on sleep is exacerbating it, planting ideas in his head about things that aren't there.

It's probably a mistake to keep it to himself. Sunwoo would do anything if he thought Chanhee was even in a _hint_ of danger, but Chanhee is too busy puzzling pieces together to tell him.

Whatever business Juyeon is involved with is shady—illicit, even—and if Chanhee spent enough time around him, maybe that put some kind of target on his back. Who knows. Who _knows._ That doesn't mean he should get a stalker the second Juyeon disappears into thin air! This has never happened before, and every passing day unsettles him more and more over it.

He considers contacting the police, but what good are they? He'd hate to have an escort everywhere anyway (at least one who isn't Juyeon), and besides, the stalker(s) would disappear the same as before until the police figure he's safe and leave him. God, they're useless.

This isn't living. He _hates_ it. Part of him wants to snap and confront the sons of bitches, but he's not stupid—his slender frame and thin limbs weren't built for confrontation, and he'd lived a relatively safe life that never necessitated self-defense. He thinks of Juyeon; not everyone is afforded the same good fortune.

Paranoia or not, his psyche is being cut through like butter with a hot knife. He's ripping at the worn seams.

Then comes a day that wraps a rope around his neck.

He stifles a yawn with his head over his shoulder. When he looks back and his gaze tiredly stretches out the window, he freezes.

Across the street outside the café, someone is watching. Watching him, _again._

His heart rate immediately skyrockets. He openly stares back in the hopes that they'll realize their freakish behavior, but instead, they start to move across the street. Without thought, Chanhee reaches into his pocket and grips the lighter. His eyes don't leave the figure for fear of harm somehow instantly happening the moment he does.

_Don't come here. Please, don't come here._

The person disappears from sight and Chanhee holds his breath, heart pounding in his ears.

Long enough passes that he thinks maybe they're gone. He swallows thickly, lighter undoubtedly imprinting into his palm, and wills his heart to calm down with the belief that he's just tired and jumpy and not everyone is out to get him.

Then, the side entrance jingles. Chanhee's heart leaps into his throat.

"Welcome," drones Sunwoo's voice as he approaches the counter. "Just one?" He looks to Chanhee, who's stock-still, anticipating who Sunwoo sees that he can't yet. They come around the corner.

Of course it's the person who'd been watching him. Of course it is. He forcefully swallows against the urge to vomit.

"Earth to Chanhee, come in Chanhee." Sunwoo taps the counter to look more professional, and Chanhee nearly bursts out of his skin.

Sunwoo blinks, bewildered at the reaction, and Chanhee watches realization slowly dawn on his face—that something is wrong.

In the space of a second, he nods towards the kitchen, signaling that he'll take care of the customer himself. Chanhee wastes no time turning on his heel and escaping the front desk. He practically dodges around the corner, out of sight, and listens in.

"Just one?" Sunwoo repeats, tone edged.

"Ah," the stranger lets out. He sounds harmless. Too harmless. "Actually, I forgot my lighter—" Chanhee's entire body tautens, heart banging in his ears. "I was wondering if either you or your..." The next word is drawn out, emphasized, targeted, and Chanhee feels sick. "...coworker found it."

"Our apologies, customer," Sunwoo says evenly. "No one has turned in a lighter. You may note that on the door, that way," Chanhee can imagine him pointing at the door, "we have a 'No Smoking' sign, so... I doubt it would be here. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Are you sure your coworker—the one that just left—" God, Chanhee will pass out here and now. "didn't find it? I'd like—"

"I can speak with my manager, if you'd like." It sounds like a threat. From Sunwoo, it _is_ a threat.

The person clears their throat, quickly switching gears in retreat. "No, never mind. It's more trouble than it's worth."

And without a single thank you, they stalk out of the café, jingling heralding their exit.

Chanhee flees to the bathroom, lighter clutched in his hand.

Later at closing, when weariness saturates down to Chanhee's bones and his nerves are in tatters, Sunwoo corners him. He simply doesn't have the energy to evade the conversation hot on his heels.

"Tell me what it is," he asks without room for argument.

Chanhee's head rests on folded arms as he slumps over at a table, one hand turning over the gunmetal lighter that feels like the last binds of his sanity.

"Whatever could you mean?" is his token resistance, but Sunwoo saw his egregious reaction to that man earlier. There's no hiding that; at this point, Chanhee doesn't want to anymore.

"You look like you haven't slept right in days," Sunwoo says, wrinkling his nose. "Looks like you're gonna keel any second."

"Oh, you mean there's a dent in my flawless beauty? And I've been deigned to be noticed by the Great Sunwoo?"

Sunwoo is not amused. "Stop doing that. What is it?"

Chanhee turns his head into his arms, eyes stinging. Whether its from emotion or exhaustion, he doesn't know. He hates feeling like this.

"I think," he says in a small voice, lashes fanning heavily across his cheeks as he stares at the flat surface of the lighter, "someone is stalking me."

"Is it that bastard?" The question almost cuts him off.

"No, no." Chanhee lifts his head, fingers threading together as goosebumps prickle his skin. God, he _wishes_ it was Juyeon; at least that'd mean he still existed and thought Chanhee was worth staying around. Bitterness is acrid in the back of his throat. "No... It's definitely not. I... I don't know who it is, but I'm—" He swallows thickly, voice catching pathetically. "I'm scared." His fingers tighten.

A warm hand places over his. His eyes flicker to Sunwoo's face, earnest to the point of being embarrassing. He's so intense for no good reason, all the time.

"I'll start going home with you. We can get a taxi together."

Chanhee winces. The fare wouldn't be so bad, but Sunwoo's a struggling college student too; neither of them have much money for constant commute. They argue over it for two days before it ends with them splitting the fare after Chanhee relents. He won't lie and say he isn't relieved.

  
  


For a while, it works; murderous intent radiates off Sunwoo that wards away everyone in a three-meter radius. It's laughable, but Chanhee is grateful. Their usual bickering has become a pretense, but Sunwoo maintains it's just that—normal, instead of a distraction that keeps Chanhee from looking over his shoulder every five seconds.

When they're alone though, Sunwoo is convinced that this has everything to do with Juyeon. He wouldn't be wrong, maybe, not really, probably, but Chanhee defends him anyway (if weakly) because when he _was_ around, Chanhee felt _safe._ He'd begun to depend on their encounters... So this whole thing has to be a byproduct of flirting with danger.

Chanhee won't admit it, but maybe he got himself into this situation the moment he lit Juyeon's cigarette. It isn't Juyeon's fault if risks are a little addictive.

That night is still fresh in his mind; how the flame lit the sharp planes of Juyeon's features, how it rendered him more alluring and became the planet that all of Chanhee's thoughts would orbit for the next several days, toying with his thin wrist. Leaving well-enough alone has never been his strong suit. If this really _does_ somehow link back to flirting with Juyeon, then it's just as much his fault—but Sunwoo doesn't need to know that, if only to avoid genuine fallout.

  
  


A few more weeks pass Chanhee's anxiety, pass without Juyeon, pass without incident. Life blessedly and unfortunately returns to normal, and Chanhee tries to put the past few months behind, readily pushing away any thoughts of Juyeon, where he is, and what he could be up to. If he's up to anything. At all.

Sunwoo still insists on accompanying him home at night, and Chanhee decides to consider the whole thing a lesson in not toying with clear peril, telling himself he'll avoid the next shady customer he comes across, even if they are stupidly attractive.

Everything just seems like a bad nightmare, something that never happened. He might've fooled himself into believing it too, if it weren't for the lighter.

And then, the nightmare splits right out of his mind.

  
  


On a chilly night a month and a half after he's last seen Juyeon (why does he measure days like that? Juyeon should pay rent for how he lives in Chanhee's head), he and Sunwoo are walking the last block to Chanhee's apartment. They're halfway there when they pass an alleyway that Chanhee used to take care to avoid walking by—this part of town isn't dangerous, but it's not a shining example of safety either, and that alleyway has seen some questionable sights best left alone.

So when Sunwoo yelps, disappearing from Chanhee's peripheral, he knows those precautions all came down to nothing.

He shouts after him, tripping into the poor light to see a figure wrestling with Sunwoo, bigger than both of them, and Sunwoo valiantly struggles back, viciously kicking and clawing. If he could just get _free—_ and Chanhee tries to help, brings out his pepper spray, but Sunwoo yells to stay away, and tears begin burning at Chanhee's eyes as fear petrifies every one of his limbs.

His hands fumble _frustratingly, work hands, fucking work!_ in his pocket for his phone, and he nearly drops it at a nasty _crack_ that he hopes and begs isn't Sunwoo's skull.

Just as his numb fingers type in 119, someone else grabs him from behind, and he _screams._

"Chani!" Sunwoo's voice struggles between grunts and pained groans.

Chanhee, in full flight mode, kicks and thrashes and bangs his head back, and the world rings as it connects with the assailant's chin. Two of them, there are _two_ of them—he and Sunwoo can't get out of this—He swings his elbow back in the hopes of his boniness helping, but it only meets solid body packed enough to take the blow.

Somewhere in front of them, a body collapses, and for a heart-stopping moment, Chanhee thinks it's Sunwoo defeated. Then, out of the shadows, practically feral, Sunwoo leaps out and collides with Chanhee and by extension, the second attacker. The three of them tumble backwards and all oxygen is knocked out of Chanhee's lungs. He whimpers, trying to squeeze out, but it's _hard_ with the way Sunwoo has taken to wailing on the other guy.

When he finally does wriggle free, heart beating a million miles a minute, he turns around, hoping to see that it's over—and it is.

Because Sunwoo is knocked out, a bloodied rock next to his head. Horror blows Chanhee's eyes wide open.

Now _wrathful,_ the man looms over Chanhee. He tries to scramble away, but the man growls and snatches him up by the collar, lifting him so high that his toes can only dream of grazing the ground.

"You slippery little _shit,"_ he spits in Chanhee's face, who's trying to hold himself up so he won't choke on the large hands ripping at his collar. "Thinking a little guard dog would protect you."

"What did I—" Chanhee tries to wheeze, not understanding what this is happening for.

"That lighter, you little bitch, we know you have it. We know you saw the code."

Lighter. Code. Lighter. His brain scrambles for scraps of memory and brain data mentioning anything about a code, code, _code—_

Wine-red lighter. Numbers etched on it. Juyeon. The other lighter that Juyeon _tracked him down_ for.

"I don't know what they mean!" he squeaks desperately, breath coming painfully short.

The world shakes when he's jerked back and forth by the collar.

"It doesn't matter, you know it exists."

He's thrown at the wall and the air is once again beaten out of his spine, and he slides down, panting, disoriented, in ten different kinds of pain. With a lethal flick, the man pulls a knife out of his pocket and approaches Chanhee. The world is dark, darker than before, and Chanhee can't see a way out, and Sunwoo's probably _dead—_

The man kneels in front of him, wraps his meaty hand around Chanhee's throat—no, this feeling is not novel, he hates it, he _hates it, let go!—_ and the knife glints in the light—

and clatters to the ground, followed by a heavy _thump._

Chanhee is pressed against the wall, heart jackrabbiting and chest undulating dangerously fast. Terrified, he looks up to see a third figure looming over him, and this is it, he's definitely going to die— _Sunwoo, I'm so sorry—_

"Are you okay?"

His eyelids flutter, pupils blown wide with adrenaline as they trace a familiar shape he could pick out in a crowd.

_Juyeon._

Swelled with energy, Chanhee flings himself at him, nearly toppling them over.

"Y—ou're all be—at up aga—in." He chokes on a sob, beating his fists into Juyeon's back as arms automatically weave around his waist, hoisting him closer. "Where _were_ you? Why did you _leave?_ Sunwoo—"

Sunwoo promptly fills Chanhee's mind, who cries his name. He scrabbles off of Juyeon and over to his fallen body, only to freeze in his tracks, shell-shocked by the blood pooling around his head. Bile surges up his throat and his legs give out, energy now forsaking him.

"God, Sunwoo, I—" His hands uselessly flutter as tears drown his eyes. He can't bring himself to even touch Sunwoo, even when all he wants to do is gather him in his arms and hold on for dear life.

Juyeon approaches from a cautious angle, careful to keep in Chanhee's range of vision like he's a startled animal, and squats on Sunwoo's other side. He reaches into his jacket—one of many, he's worn so many—to pull out a rag, folding it.

"I already called emergency," he murmurs, and gestures for Chanhee to give space. Chanhee leans over further instead, refusing to leave him again, tears streaming down his face. "It's a head injury—we need to stop the bleeding." Juyeon presses.

Chanhee's bottom lip wobbles. Juyeon's voice is gentle but solid without room for argument, and Chanhee is useless right now. He can't do anything. Reluctantly, he yields.

Juyeon's hands, so big and deft, seem practiced when they tenderly feel around Sunwoo's hair for the scope of the injury. Chanhee doubts he has any sort of medical practice—none legal, anyway—but the confidence he moves with is reassuring. He trusts him more than himself at the moment, if nothing else.

This is the first time he's seeing Juyeon's bare hands, he realizes, and he can't take his eyes off them. They're just as beat up as the rest of him; knuckles split and bruised over, looking calloused and like they haven't seen better days in their life. Chanhee wants to bury his face into them and never let go.

"God," he shudders, "you look like you could use a hospital too."

Except Juyeon refuses that. When the paramedics and police show up, he hides—leaves, Chanhee assumes. It wouldn't be the first time.

While being immediately treated at the back of the ambulance (they whisk Sunwoo away, won't let him come, say there's no time to waste, Chanhee's statement is more important than him being at his friend's side), he shakily explains what happened, though leaving out the part about what he'd been tracked down for and that Juyeon was involved at all.

On the ride to the police station, only Juyeon, injured, and Sunwoo, who hopefully won't die of blunt force trauma, occupy his mind. He wants to go home and _sleep._ Maybe throw back a few bottles of soju to help that along. They don't even let him go to the hospital, seeing as Sunwoo's emergency contacts are called and only immediate family is allowed. He's miserable and wants to put up enough of a fuss to get arrested himself, but he also just wants to go home.

After what has to be _hours_ of being processed at the station, Chanhee is driven to his apartment.

He slags up to the building and into the hallway, foggy and dead on his feet. Silence surrounds him, rendering the past few hours as a distant nightmare that's left him on the border of dissociation. He looks up, and then feels like ice cold water was dumped on him.

Next to the door leans Juyeon, bare fingers pulling a cigarette from his lips. Chanhee's breath stutters, and Juyeon looks over at the sound, straightening out. Tears instantly flood Chanhee's eyes.

He stomps over. "Give me one," he demands.

Juyeon's brow furrows under the hair fallen over it, and he regards him slowly, carefully, eyes roaming every inch of his splotchy face. Then, he finally says, "No," and to punctuate his point, he drops the cigarette and stubs it out.

Anger too feeble to have fire wells up in Chanhee. After the night he's had, this guy has the audacity to say _no?_ He glares, though it's watery and more like a drowned kitten's glare than anything else.

He sharply turns on his heel to unlock his door so he can slam it right in Juyeon's face, but anger mixes potently with fatigue to leave him missing the keyhole several times. It takes Juyeon reaching over with his stupidly large hand to steady Chanhee's own enough to slot the key inside.

It clicks open, and he storms in without so much as a thank you, shakily growling instead, "You better pick that thing up and throw it away properly!"

Saying it just for the sake of saying it; he doesn't even stop to see if Juyeon listens.

All of his things are immediately chucked onto the couch as he stomps off to the bathroom, snapping on every light on his way, and under the sink is a first-aid kit hardly touched. He yanks it out and goes back to the living room where Juyeon now stands, sorely out of place in his dark clothes among the pastels and beige colors of the apartment. This sight once enthralled his daydreams for weeks, but reality has completely sullied it, leaving his nerves frayed and his heart ragged.

"Sit. Take off your jacket." Chanhee orders, willing his voice to be steady.

Juyeon raises an eyebrow but doesn't question him, thank god, and removes his jacket to lay it over the couch arm. For some dumb reason, he sits on the low table in _front_ of the couch instead of the couch itself, and Chanhee resists the compulsion to snap over it.

Huffing, he squeezes between Juyeon's ridiculously long legs and the couch and plops down, hands fumbling with the first-aid kit. He meticulously focuses on each micro-task, ignoring Juyeon's eyes on his movements, and wets cotton balls with peroxide to disinfect those knuckles, blood already dried and cracking over them.

Their hands are such different sizes—both of his own could probably fit in one of Juyeon's palms. He fixates on that instead of how just a few hours ago, Sunwoo's blood was smeared over them. Sunwoo, being rolled off on the gurney. Sunwoo, bleeding from the head. Sunwoo, who had EMTs shouting around him. Sunwoo, who was hurt because of Chanhee.

Juyeon whimpers as the alcohol seeps into his wounds, and teardrops _plip, plip, plip_ onto the back of his hand. The sound breaks out into a sob—and it's not Juyeon at all, who'd been silent the whole time.

Chanhee presses his forehead onto the flats of Juyeon's fingers, his own curling tight, nails digging into the meat of his palm like it'll ground him if he sinks in deep enough. The apartment soon resounds with bawls. His shoulders hunch together and his chest coils tight, throat working painfully around cries that won't stop.

Calloused fingers grasp one of his wrists and gently separate him from wetting his forehead with rubbing alcohol, and he can hardly see through his tear-blurred eyes in the dim light. A large palm cusps the side of his face, and he cries more.

"I'm sorry," he barely hears. "I should've been more careful."

On impulse, Chanhee yanks away and beats a fist into Juyeon's chest. "Where did you _go?!"_ he wails, hitting again and again and again. "You _left!"_

He bangs until his wrist starts to hurt, head ducking and chin digging into his own collarbones. Aching, his fist falls limply against Juyeon's chest, and then drops into a warm, waiting palm. Fingers curl gently around it, sliding up to swallow his hand.

"I'm sorry," Juyeon murmurs, lifting the hand to his mouth. His chapped lips press against Chanhee's whitened knuckles. "I was too late, I should've finished them all sooner."

The tension and frustration in his voice makes Chanhee realize that he's shaking something wound and restrained only by the skin of his teeth. He peeks up, sniffling, and sees Juyeon’s brow furrowed roughly through his hair. He curls his other hand around their joined ones, all inclination to blame Juyeon melting away.

"It's not your fault," he hears himself mumble hoarsely, bringing the calloused palm to his face. "I... I just wish you hadn't disappeared without a word..."

"I..." Juyeon's jaw works, veins in his neck tightening and loosening in turns. "I thought if I confirmed they could find me through you, they'd leave you alone..." He shakes his head. "Stupid. I put you in so much danger, why—"

"Stop, stop."

Juyeon promptly zips his mouth shut. Self-flagellation doesn't suit him at all and only serves to make Chanhee feel worse about the whole thing. He'll let it go for now, but they'll have to talk about it eventually. Chanhee just wants to meld all of himself into Juyeon to stay there and wait until he can visit Sunwoo and confirm with his own eyes that he isn't dead.

Seeming to sense those thoughts, Juyeon mentions, "Your friend will be fine." He deliberately licks his lips. "The gash wasn't deep or big—head injuries usually look worse than they are."

As if _that_ makes Chanhee feel better. It must show on his face since Juyeon steadily goes on, thumb caressing over his cheekbone.

"I didn't feel a dent in his skull either. Cracks are hard to tell for too, but it didn't seem like he had any..." He pauses. "He must have a thick skull."

A sob chokes into a laugh, and Chanhee nuzzles the side of his face further into Juyeon's engulfing palm in want of soaking in every ounce of warmth and comfort he can.

"God..." He shudders. "All this over a lighter..."

Juyeon pauses. "You still have it?"

Chanhee suppresses the itch to smack him. "You left! Of course I kept it! I didn't know it'd get me _hunted down."_ His voice trembles. "The one I took from you wasn't even the right one..."

"No," Juyeon agrees, guilt heavy in his tone. "It wasn't. God, I should've—Why did I let you keep it? I—"

"I don't have any plans to give it back," Chanhee blurts wetly. "I guess I brought it on myself, or whatever..."

Juyeon's eyes rove his face, and his expression softens. "I think that's what happens when you follow a mad dog." He tries to make it sound like a joke, Chanhee can tell, and his laugh at it is brittle.

 _Mad dog._ He thinks about the lighter he stole. Thinks about that shop that gives Juyeon "jobs." Thinks about his feet dangling off the ground as his vision darkens.

"I don't even want to know." He wipes at his face. "Isn't this the part where you tell me how dangerous you are and how I should stay away?"

Juyeon snorts at that. "I'm not making that mistake again," he says quietly. Determination, soft but decisive, permeates his every word. "How am I supposed to protect you if I'm not with you?"

Chanhee's heart does a funny thing. He must be sick, or maybe the night is finally making his body give out. He pulls away from Juyeon's touch, snotty and feeling disgusting, and reaches over to the side table for the box of tissues.

"I," he blows his nose, and then curls the tissue between his hands to occupy them. He takes a slow, deep breath, watching his fingers work at the sheet edge. "This wasn't a one-time thing, was it...?"

A corner of Juyeon's lips tick up, sad. Dread shoots through Chanhee, and he chokes down the urge to cry more. He eventually slides both hands over his forehead, heavily sweeping his hair back, to rest his head in his palms, elbows on his knees.

"God... You're lucky you're cute..."

His head tilts up to peek at Juyeon through flyaways of his bangs. Juyeon's face is softer, cuts and bruises made less harsh in the warm light.

The small weight in his pocket makes him think back to that first night; Chanhee doesn't regret approaching him. Even if it led to this, he'd probably do it again. He'd probably steal the lighter again. And even if Juyeon was dumb enough to think that exchanging them and then staying away was the solution, he'd still want to stand in front of his door for hours and kiss him.

He pushes off the couch, tears clinging to his eyelashes, and fits himself into Juyeon's lap, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. Juyeon's hands steady him at the waist, pulling him closer instead of pushing away. He buries his face between the collar of the jacket and Juyeon's warm neck, eyes pressing closed. He smells like firewood and cigarettes.

"You owe me," he murmurs childishly. "You owe me and Sunwoo so many meals. So... Stay, okay?" _Stay with me this time?_

Hiding his face muffles his voice, but Juyeon understands anyway because he replies, with a smile as his arms draw securely around Chanhee's back like he refuses to let go again, "That was the plan."

**Author's Note:**

> so! this was my first foray into TBZ ficdom and ju/mil had me in a chokehold at first but then ju/new clutched me by the balls and has refused to let go since. since i also got deeper into NCT about the same time as TBZ, i'm also working on fics for that fandom, but hopefully i can put out more TBZ fics in the future~ i hope you'll look forward to them!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/LUKAILOFI) // [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/raviel)


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